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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099492">Burning Like Bitter Wine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarginallyRed/pseuds/MarginallyRed'>MarginallyRed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Child Abuse, Falling In Love, Healing, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love, M/M, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Self-Hatred, Wine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:48:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,721</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30099492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarginallyRed/pseuds/MarginallyRed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wine doesn’t burn like it used to, like it did back when he was just a kid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt, Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Burning Like Bitter Wine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey,</p><p>Now, as you may already know, this work was originally published by BloodAndBergamot.</p><p>That person was me, who had a bit of a breakdown and deleted all of her works. </p><p>I am planning on re-uploading all my works now, as I was proud of my work, and hated that i deleted them.</p><p>Nice to see you again.<br/>-Marginally Red.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wine doesn’t burn like it used to, like it did back when he was just a kid.</p><p>The frozen heat of the scarlet liquid dripping down his throat, burning as if he was drinking molten iron, leaking through every sinful crevice of his body as he once again had to plead for the forgiveness of a God who didn’t care to notice him. A god who hated him for a crime he was born to commit from the day he was born.</p><p>The cruel eyes of his congregation were on him, once again. The sign of the cross, a repetitive motion, was being branded onto his skin in a display of something that was supposed to be love, that felt like love.</p><p>The way he thought love felt was when he was a child.</p><p>The harsh grabbing of his hair as he was dragged before the priest once more, his mother begging for her boy to be saved from eternal damnation. He was wrong, he was unnatural, but God can forgive all who try to accept his grace.</p><p>His father slamming him into a wall, telling him that a real man could endure the pain. Telling him that if Schlatt dared to cry, he was going to get the worst beating of his life.</p><p>That was the love he knew, when he was only a child.</p><p>Schlatt learned from a young age that there was something wrong about him. His father had called it ‘The Devil’s Touch’ and had scorned him from a young age. No boy of his was going to grow up to be a <em>sissy,</em> as he called it. The loving touch of a father warping to cruel cracks across the face, and blood dripping from his nose.</p><p>Even so, the young ram took any opportunity to spend time with his father, even with it resulting in dark eyes and hollow pain, the price he paid for the destiny his parents had laid out for him before he even learned what the word ‘Gay’ meant.</p><p>God, he could remember the pain. Staring at the wall of his bedroom as blood fell onto his shirt, the shirt he was meant to keep clean for Sunday mass. How disappointed mother would be, the fact that her son had not only ruined her life, but also the nice clothing she got him.</p><p>She did tell him, after all, that cleanliness was next to Godliness.</p><p>The hollow throbbing of his skull felt amplified in his tiny room, the pain no longer fitting inside his own head as he tried to rip out his own horns. The cold bone felt as though it was curling into his skin, ripping away at the pieces of him that he knew, until he was nothing but an echo of those who came before him, an echo of his own father.</p><p>He looked just like his father; did you know that? His mother said it was a good thing, that his father was a respectable member of this community, and maybe one day, Schlatt would finally be good enough to follow in his footsteps. That is, if Schlatt stopped with his <em>perversion</em>.</p><p>A perversion, that’s what being gay was in his hometown. It wasn’t as if he knew that though, going through school as a kid, he was oblivious to it. Sure, he heard his father talk about the ‘fairies’ in passing, cruel words flying from his lips like usual. Schlatt was too relieved, however, that the insults weren’t aimed at him to care.</p><p>He didn’t realise the crime he was committing that night, as he lay with that guy in the barn by Old Johnny’s. the boy’s family owned the barn, Schlatt was sure of it. It wasn’t exactly a bedroom, but a whole load of loose hay and bottles of blood red wine was enough to get any teenager to lose their own inhibitions, let loose for a couple of hours.</p><p>Careless fumbling, teenagers in their first step of exploration. Words shouted at them in school like ‘Homo’ wasn’t reaching them here when it was only both of them. The first boyfriend he ever had, all gentle smiles and excited hands as they lost themselves in each other for the first time.</p><p>And the last.</p><p>Neither of them had heard his boyfriend’s dad coming into the barn, or climbing the rickety, old stairs to reach the loft. Yet, one minute they were enveloped in each other, pressing kisses to every inch of the others body that they could reach, and the next, Schlatt had the muzzle of a gun pressed under his chin while the boy he was just minutes from fucking was screaming.</p><p>It would have been better for the gun to have fired into his skull than the torment he’d get for the sin he’d committed. He was no better than a murderer in the eyes of the congregation now, no better than a murderer in the eyes of his own mother, who now had a <em>Homo</em> as a son.</p><p>He was hauled before the priest once more. His mother yelling and screaming at his boyfriend’s parents. Calling his boyfriend a seductor, and a succubus sent from hell to corrupt her <em>dear sweet son</em>. Demanding his punishment, whether it be the belt or whether it be manual labour, his mother would be damned if he got off without a punishment.</p><p>They had demanded his words, to hear his side of the story, and <em>God</em>, he was a coward. He knew he should’ve supported his partner, take their punishment together as they had been planning beforehand. Simple, shared words of a life where they could be free from this hatred, where he could tell his mother, and she would still love him. Where his father could be proud of him.</p><p>He was a weak man, and he was a fool.</p><p>The words rolled from his mouth, dry and empty, like the inside of Jesus’ tomb after he rose. ‘<em>Temped me’</em> , ‘<em>I’m no homo</em>’ , ‘<em>didn’t even like him, just wanted a quick fuck</em>’ and ‘I<em>t was the red wine</em>’ burned through his tongue as if he was licking at flames, the ice-cold shame splashed over him, leaving him gasping for air. Yet he looked forward, face blank and unmoving, casting his eyes away from the statue of The Lord, undeserving to grace his eyes with it.</p><p>When his eyes caught the sight of his boyfriend, being dragged from the room by dad as his mum wept gently behind him, his heart clenched. In the boy’s eyes was red-hot fury, hatred directed at Schlatt for his cowardly actions, the man who looked so strong, being so weak and pitiful before the eyes of God.</p><p>Schlatt clenched his jaw, looking away from the boy and back to the cross, falling into the Hail Mary’s as he begged, hoping that for once someone would listen to his pleas. He begged to God to forgive him, and he begged to God to put him out of his fucking misery.</p><p>He heard that ‘The Sissy’ was gone. By then, Schlatt was no longer the freak of the church. He had practically lost count of the number of girls he’d fucked by then, one after another in a fucking repetitive fashion as he watched them sway their asses in his face.</p><p>His father congratulated him on being such a player, slapping him across the back and telling him not to get too many of ‘the bitches’ pregnant. It was sickening, yet he was still a coward, and played along to his father’s game, empty insults falling from his mouth as he regretted staying alive.</p><p>It wouldn’t have even been hard, to have killed himself after his boy got dragged away. They had locked him in his room after all, and all he had to do was break one of the bottles of beer hidden under his bed to get one of the sharp, cruel shards. It would’ve only taken a minute to dig into his wrist and rip into a vein, and then what could they do? It wasn’t as if his mother or father had been checking on him. He was the ‘great shame’ of the family after all.</p><p>Girl after girl, it never ended. Sure, he liked some of them. They were sweet, and kind. Yet the gentle, warm curves didn’t entice him like they should have. Their bit their lips and their twinkling eyes shone as they whimpered into his ear, yet he didn’t care, boredom wracking his entire body as he struggled to get it up in the first place.</p><p>
  <em>For fuck’s sake.</em>
</p><p>He was the head of the school, every kid trying to flock around him as he waved about his fucking gun in a display of some sick sort of masculinity, as if he was trying to prove something.</p><p>He was trying to prove something, he tried to prove something every day of his fucking life as he sat with his wooden rosary beads as he prayed and begged for forgiveness.</p><p>It was a couple of months into his last year when the boy returned, <em>back from camp</em> his mother had said. It wasn’t long before the boy was back at school and was very little time after that before Schlatt’s legs moved without permission, sprinting down the corridor towards his old lover.</p><p>His entire body went cold when his lover stared through him, blank face and hollow eyes. The once round face of his love was now gaunt and bony, a harsh, yellow tone of his skin left Schlatt paralysed.</p><p>Schlatt sent him to this fate, Schlatt got him caught.</p><p><em>Oh god</em>.</p><p>The boy didn’t say anything to him. In fact, he stared emptily at him then walked away right after, as if Schlatt didn’t even exist.</p><p>He might as well not have, as he felt him shrink into himself, horror ripping at his guts as his guilt drowned him once more.</p><p>It was unsurprising when the boy killed himself a few months later. He didn’t even leave a note, only an empty bottle of blood red wine resting next to his body.</p><p>After that, Schlatt skipped town.</p><p>He hadn’t thought it out much, grief spurring him on as he grabbed his father’s wallet and his gun that was left siting on the table at the door before he sprinted to the nearest bus-stop.</p><p>He had yanked at the ratty blue jumper he had on, knowing it was stupid to run without a jacket in the middle of the winter they were having right now, a shiver wracking his spine and he pulled himself into a ball and tried to ignore how there were hot tracks of water leaking down his face.</p><p>It only took a few minutes before he dragged himself on the first bus he could, away from his shitty hometown and to some big city out there that he could finally give himself a proper chance in life, yet it felt like, instead of the freedom he so dearly wanted, that he was instead being pulled into the deepest pits of hell.</p><p>Whatever happened to ‘Honour your Mother and Father?’ as God had commanded? After all these years, he still managed to be a sinner, he would always be a sinner.</p><p>For the first time in almost 16 years, Schlatt cried. falling into the dirty, ripped seat on the stifling hot coach, he curled into himself as his entire body heaved, blotches of red staining his face as he shook. There was nobody left who loved him, he didn’t even love himself.</p><p>The only person who ever loved him, he betrayed.</p><p>Is this the life he was doomed to? God’s love sentencing him to an empty life, devoid of the love he could see between those couples in his high school. He clutched his rosary in his hand, once more murmuring out Hail Mary’s, begging for forgiveness.</p><p>God would never forgive him; God didn’t have time for sinners like him.</p><p>Nobody had time for sinners like him.</p><p>Life moved a lot faster after that, finding himself a bigshot CEO, raking in the money and cash. Money made him more of a sinner, a covetous, callous sinner.</p><p><em>Disgusting</em>.</p><p>Schlatt didn’t cry now, but he did drink. Whole bottles of bourbon (he no longer drank red wine) would disappear in a single night as he would collapse in someone else’s house or in some fucking club. He didn’t really give a fuck when he woke up naked or without his wallet, someone having robbed him blind during the night.</p><p>At least someone was using his money.</p><p><em>Covetous</em>.</p><p>He thought it was a better life, he thought he could’ve been happy here.</p><p>He never could’ve been happy here. This life devoid of love.</p><p>He had tried, plenty of times. Nobody was willing to be near him, an alcoholic son of a bitch with attachment issues. They all said he had more problems than he was worth, usually after they found him in a half-filled bathtub, bourbon poured all over the floor as Schlatt muttered on about God.</p><p>They were disgusted by him.</p><p>Once more, he skipped town. Took his money and fucked off to a new country, founded by an old friend from a lifetime ago. It had practically been years since he’d seen Wilbur now, the man last catching him when he was running cons on rich men.</p><p><em>Shameful</em>.</p><p> He had missed the guy, and Wilbur was definitely one of the only people he’d ever known who didn’t judge him too harshly. Sure, a couple of comments on how he was going to end up dead if he continued at this rate with the drinking and smoking.</p><p>As if that wasn’t what he was aiming for.</p><p>L’Manburg wasn’t anything to write home about, really. It was kind of small and a little bit disappointing. It was new though, and there was work being done on the country every day.</p><p>Wilbur himself had changed too, the man walking about with a son now, A furry named ‘Fundy’. It was odd looking at Wilbur interacting with his kid, a lot different from how he remembered the man.</p><p>Yet, he still allowed Wilbur to drag him into a hug, going on about politics and needing help and some shit Schlatt didn’t really care about. Truthfully, he just wanted to get a small house and bugger off there, early retirement in his young age. It was beginning to look like he wasn’t going to be given the chance though.</p><p>It was even worse when he learned why Wilbur needed him as an endorsement. Apparently, the man was trying to rig an election, pretty fucking corrupt of him if Schlatt said so himself. But he didn’t really get a vote, considering he was already a CEO and they’re not the most morally driven people.</p><p><em>Morally corrupt</em>.</p><p>He tried to explore his different options, yet he was running out of opportunities to reject Wilbur, the man was hounding him for fuck’s sake.</p><p>Then he found Quackity.</p><p>Another hybrid. It was evident from the duck wings poking out from his back. The man was almost half his height but had definitely made up for it in his confidence. The first person outside of Wilbur to walk up to him in L’Manburg and immediately shake his hand. His interest was piqued, and he let the handshake linger more than it probably should’ve, considering.</p><p><em>Dirty</em>.</p><p>How do you describe a man that has become so intrinsically a part of you? So much, in fact, that you can’t imagine life without, that the breath in your lungs only exists while there is breath in his.</p><p>The man wasn’t slow to change things with Schlatt. One minute they were nothing more than business partners, then the next minute Schlatt would wake to Quackity in his bed, in his kitchen, and in his life.</p><p>For once in his life, Schlatt couldn’t manage to shove him away. He had tried, violently at times. In an alcohol-induced rage, he had swung at Quackity one night, slamming the small man into the wall and wrapping his hand round the man’s throat.</p><p><em>Like father used to do to mother</em>.</p><p>It had hit him quickly, repeating the mistakes of the past. He was growing to become the very bastard he had sworn against. The rage felt so similar, like the burning of the red wine as it slipped down his throat as the priest’s beady eyes stared down, in a silent judgement. The rage felt like the burning of the red wine from the day after his lover had been sent away, as he was forced to beg for forgiveness for a crime that he would commit again.</p><p>Without even trying, he was beginning to betray someone he loved once more, back in the barn, allowing their community to tear them apart. Allowing the alcohol to tear them apart.</p><p>Allowing himself to tear himself apart even more.</p><p>For once, the pain of a broken nose was as euphoric as he once thought death would be, before he found Quackity. He knew the younger man had belted him across the face, watching as he stumbled back into his own desk, a sick grin spreading across his face as he looked up at Alex, blood burning his face like the red wine burned his throat.</p><p>Euphoric, being able to look into the eyes of an angel.</p><p>They were never made to be kind figures that they had been fleshed into. Angels were warriors of God, beings of beauty and of vengeance that could build you up or tear you down.</p><p>Right now, Schlatt would let Alex do either. Alex could rip into his body, tear out his heart and force him to watch as it was torn to pieces, eaten in a beautiful bloodlust fuelled by an insane love. What he’d give for this man to destroy him.</p><p>He wondered if Hell would even want him after Quackity tore him apart, he knew Heaven definitely wouldn’t.</p><p>Once more, he found himself face to face with what his mother would consider a temptation, a seductor designed to drag him into the deepest pits of hell. He was supposed to remain strong, follow God like his mother always wanted for him.</p><p>He wondered if someone held a gun to Quackity’s head, what he’d do to keep him alive.</p><p>Schlatt wondered if he was still a coward, if it was Quackity being dragged away to the camp like the boy all those years ago, if Schlatt would save him. If he’d be brave enough to grab the smaller man and run from their town, make a life together like they deserved to.</p><p>Does a Homo deserve anything? His father certainly thought they didn’t. He knew that from the nights of drunken rage where his father pressed a pistol to his stomach and made him beg for his life, repeating a single sentence:</p><p>“<em>All Gays should be shot.</em>”</p><p>On the nights where he held his own gun, <em>his fathers’ gun</em>, to his jaw, those words would make him stop out of spite.</p><p>Having the boy in his lap now, letting the younger man gently cradle his face and run his hand through his hair, he wondered if this is how love was supposed to feel. Love wasn’t his mother ripping out his hair, slapping the devil out of him. It wasn’t his father and the gun pressed to his stomach to stop his boy becoming a homo.</p><p>Love was the way Quackity would press against him, biting viciously into his neck, blood dripping down his white shirt and burning like the red wine in his throat. Love was the gentle kisses as Quackity cleaned that cut, grinning about his claim on the man, knowing that the most powerful man in all of L’Manburg belonged to him.</p><p>Love was gentle, and precious, and <em>nothing</em> like he knew in his hometown, <em>nothing</em> like God’s love.</p><p>He felt it everyday here, when Quackity would kiss him awake softly, helping him to leave his nightmares and to be able to face his angel. He felt it in every shady deal they made, every con they pulled on citizens of the country, a shared sly smirk as they both ripped the carpet out from under those unsuspecting.</p><p>Love felt like Quackity, and Quackity felt like red wine.</p><p>The burn of loving him, how anguish would drip into his veins every time he seen Alex in pain, in any sort of suffering, and his desperation as he would plead to God to <em>just let them be happy! </em></p><p>The taste of red wine would fill his mouth as they would kiss, the strong wine from their night of drinking would echo into Schlatt’s bones, the burning wine heating their faces, and their bodies.</p><p>Red wine was a natural aphrodisiac after all.</p><p>The way each touch from the younger felt like a brand into his skin, like how the sign of the cross once felt. Every touch felt like muscle memory, engraved into his skin.</p><p>Schlatt wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>Quackity felt like religion, something worth worshipping, a benevolent God. Schlatt would do anything, fall to his knees if only Quackity would notice him. Willing to bend to the boy’s whims no matter what.</p><p>Any sacrifice for the angel who held his heart.</p><p>Anything for his God.</p><p>Yet, Quackity wanted nothing. The gentle touches and simple praise came at no cost to Schlatt, no expectations held for the man. Free to let their love flow gently, like a flickering candle being introduced to oxygen for the first time as it gains a stronger, brighter flame.</p><p>Oh, how warm it made him feel.</p><p>All Alex wanted for them was to live, finally, live a proper life. No expectations held against them by parents, or by society.</p><p>Alex wanted them to be able to recover from the sins of the past, he wanted them to be free.</p><p>The taste of red wine burned in his heart; an ever-burning flame brought by the unconditional love of a small man for someone as broken as him. All the younger man asked was for Schlatt to recover from the sins of the past, for them to recover <em>together</em>.</p><p>And who was Schlatt to deny his God?</p>
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